


my calamitous love (& insurmountable grief)

by midwestwind



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e06 Vegas with some Radish, Episode: s05e07 Our Mojo, F/M, Morning After, Post-Coital, Romance, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/midwestwind
Summary: Lucifer contemplates falling asleep next to Chloe // Some years (or thousands) later, he contemplates waking up next to her
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 15
Kudos: 374





	my calamitous love (& insurmountable grief)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [detectivespencer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivespencer/gifts).



> look idk i just needed this out of my head. it's the first creative writing i've done in probably about a year, so please be gentle. <3

Chloe’s hands around his shoulders go slack, sliding just a bit and then suddenly - with a jolt - returning higher up on his shoulder blades. Her finger tips glide over the space where his wings hide, where scars had marred his skin not so long ago, now disappeared with the return of his angelic burden. He pushes the thought aside, focusing instead on the way her fingers drift once more, going slack for longer this time before she jolts back to consciousness.

The alcohol and her sleepy state are catching up with her.

“Not that I’m complaining, detective,” Lucifer offers quietly, still aware of the drunkenly unconscious presences in the adjoining room. “But you’re about to fall asleep in my arms.”

She pulls back slowly, her movements languid with sleep, and he sees a look in her eyes. Like, she wants to say something but holds herself back. He misses her hands as soon as they’re gone, suddenly too aware of his own back without her fingers there to distract him.

Chloe gives a furtive look to her pilfered dress shirt, then the doorway with a view of the couch. He wonders, for a moment, if she’s plotting an escape. Instead she sighs and shakes her head.

“Should we wake them?”

“Lost cause, I’m afraid,” Lucifer chuckles, quietly applauding the grievous hangovers awaiting the snoops. He glances down at Chloe’s hands, the newly presented necklace tangled in her fingers as her thumb strokes over the bullet.

Macabre. But it suits them.

“You’re all hardly the first partiers to sleep one off in this penthouse,” he offers, trying to sound a little cheerier. But he can’t shake the feelings seeing her here in his bed, seeing the dents in his safe, had brought up in him. So much for avoiding those nasty feelings he’d mentioned. He had meant what he’d said to Candy, about trying not to screw this one up again.

But, he just can’t seem to do right by her.

Chloe sways a little and he looks up from her hands to find her eyes drifted shut. He chuckles, reaching for her hands and wrapping both of his around them. He feels her stiffen, just a little, as he carefully extracts the chain from her fingers.

“I thought that was mine,” she says, sounding like she’s pouting. When he looks up at her again, a gleeful thrill runs through him at the confirmation. It’s playful and soft, still caught up in the near sleep. She’s teasing him and he could push her back into the pillows and kiss her now. If he had the right.

No, he gave that right up a long time ago. Somewhere around his last Vegas jaunt.

“Just taking it for safekeeping, detective,” he assures her, lowering the chain back into the small gift box it had come out of and setting it on the stand next to the bed. “It’s all yours, I assure you.”

She gives a little sound at that, something smug and happy. And then she falls back into his pillows, his shirt pressing up at her collar as she makes herself comfortable. The ease of it all startles him. He’d half expected her to try to make a run for it after the intimacy of the gift and their embrace, but he’s really the one who does most of the running lately, he’s realizing.

But she does it so casually, the movement sloppy and without thought. Like it’s exactly where he belongs. He wishes that were true.

“I’m tired,” she sighs, like it’s brand new information he needs to be privy to in order to move forward. He laughs in surprise and nods.

“I’ve heard copious amounts of whiskey will do that to a human.”

“ _ Human _ ,” she parrots back, in some poor approximation of his accent, like she’s mocking him. And he might take offense, except she’s turning her head to the side and burying half of her face in his pillow. Drifting right back off to sleep as if he’s not sitting here next to her legs, watching her make herself perfectly at home beneath his silk sheets.

“Right,” he says quietly, making to stand. Chloe’s hand finds his, though, tugging gently and causing him to stall.

“Sleep,” she says quietly, but her eyes are wide now, imploring as she makes her request. Demand, perhaps. Either way, he’s powerless but to comply. He’s not one for denying himself –  _ or her _ – anyway.

“Are you sure?” He asks quietly anyway, because he needs her to be sure. Needs for this moment to be real. She doesn’t respond with words, simply squeezing his fingers. It’s enough, he decides.

Normally, he wouldn’t even consider the possibility of sleep with any amount of clothing on, let alone nearly a full suit. But Chloe isn’t releasing his hand and he’s hesitant to do anything that might pop this fragile little bubble they’ve found tonight. So, he carefully angles his body over hers until he can lie back on the other side of the bed, stiff and uncomfortable above the duvet.

Her fingers go slack against his once it’s clear he’s not trying to leave. She shifts a little more, but not much, and he doubts it’ll take long for her to drift back off to sleep.

He, on the other hand, will likely be up for hours. Because, exhaustion of the day and desperate need for a drink aside, he doesn’t think sleeping beside her will come as easily as he’d like. Chloe’s breathing has gone steady and he’s sure any moment the snoring will start up. He’s oddly looking forward to it.

The penthouse is too quiet, even with the amount of life inside of it tonight. And while he usually finds himself to be fantastic company, he’d rather not be by himself stuck in the quiet with nothing but his own thoughts tonight. Because there’s simply too many of them to keep track of at the moment. And Chloe sleeping next to him, twisted around towards him so he can watch her face relax as she drifts further into unconsciousness, isn’t helping.

Because, and maybe this isn’t a new revelation, but it’s newly cementing itself, he had meant what he’d said when he’d handed her that gift. He knew that this was as close as they’d get. Because despite what he may have said earlier, he thinks he has ruined this. Look at the state his simple trip out of town had put her in – had put them both in.

Devil face, no devil face. Wings, no wings. He’d never be deserving of her, not really. Whatever his father may have had to do with things, it didn’t matter. His father hadn’t created this mess, no matter how much easier it was to blame Him for it.

There were many things dear old dad needed to answer for, but the state of his and Chloe’s relationship wasn’t one of them.

Chloe shifts suddenly, moving just slightly closer to him and he freezes, watching her face. There’s no change and he can tell she’s still asleep. He lets his body relax, turns on his side to face her better. The thought hits him that this is all he gets, this quiet slumbering moment of peace next to her. And it may be all he gets for a while, what with some emissary of his father’s out there and his crusade to revive his devil face.

If this is their moment, and tomorrow the sun will come up and break the safety of this bubble they’ve created here in his bed, and that’ll be all he ever gets from her, then. Well, he’s certainly not going to miss a moment of it.

Lucifer doesn’t finally give into sleep until just after dawn. Chloe wakes up nearly pressed against his chest.

\---

It’s been thousands of years, literal millennia, for Lucifer since that night with the bullet necklace and Chloe’s fingers pressing gently against his shoulder blades through the layers of his suit.

This time, he wakes up languid and sated. His body still reeling from the activities of the night prior in the most delicious way. It’s one of the benefits, he’s beginning to realize, of the way Chloe makes him almost dangerously human – everything feels a little more real, a little more vivid when it’s with her. Every gentle touch, every kiss, every… well. He does mean  _ everything _ .

Although, he’s beginning to wonder if that really has anything to do with his proximity-based vulnerability, so much as simply with the woman in question.

As if aware of his thoughts of her – though how often aren’t his thoughts of her, lately? – Chloe makes a quiet sound in her sleep, her legs shifting against his own beneath the sheets. Lucifer’s eyes open fully, the reminder of her touch bringing him out of his dozing state. He stretches his limbs, his leg slipping further between hers, and pushes himself up on the bed to loom over her. To take her in.

She’d seeked out one of his shirts last night ( _ “It’s freezing in here, Lucifer, I thought the devil would know how to keep things warm.” _ ) and found the white button down in his closet. He’d have offered the shirt he’d been wearing, but it was left somewhere in the other room and he quite preferred the sight of her moving around his bedroom in search of something to cover up. Besides, she had seemed almost on a mission, sifting through dark blues and greys to the crisp white shirt hung to one side of his closet.

He’d watched her button it up over all that wonderfully exposed skin and the memory had nearly floored him. Chloe asleep in his bed, wrapped up in his shirt. Her hands laced up in the necklace he’d given her, fingers dancing over his shoulders.

Somehow it had been just as enthralling as the view of her without the shirt. Plus it had still allowed him a prime view of her butt.

But now she’s stretched out along one side of his bed, the collar of his shirt pulling against her neck as she shifts in the pillows. And all he can do is watch her, awed at the sight of her so comfortable and real next to him. Last night had felt like a dam breaking, a dream sequence in one of those horrible films Amenadiel insists are good. Maybe Lucifer is starting to understand the appeal. Because being with Chloe hadn’t felt like being with just anyone, not that he had expected it to, or at least hadn’t expected it to for a long time.

But he also hadn’t expected any of it. He’d hoped and longed, wanted her to have the time she needed, wanted so desperately for her to still want him, despite everything. Desired. For so long she had been his greatest desire. Still is, he supposes, as his insides squirm with the thought of waking her up with gentle kisses, pressing her back into the pillows and having another go round.

And then Chloe gives a loud snore and wakes herself up, which really he should have seen coming anyway. He knew she had a tendency to snore like a fat man with a deviated septum. She laughs at herself and strokes her fingers over his jaw and any thought of depriving himself leaves him.

He leans down and kisses her, pressing her head back into the pillows with the pressure of it, and she meets him with ease. Like it’s simple. Like they’ve been doing this for all time. Eons in hell, millennia away from her light, and it’s like nothing is – has ever been – between them.

She chose him. Not because she was made for him or through some trickery of his father’s. Not because she was drawn to him like everyone else seems to be. But she’s chosen him, once again. The devil. The cast out angel.

Chloe chose him simply because she wanted him, every side and angle of him. All the divine and terrible. She had wanted him anyway. This time, he has no intention of screwing that up.


End file.
